


Real

by DestielTheShipOfDreams



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Season/Series 11, Castiel Angst, Castiel in the Bunker, I Tried, M/M, Post-Casifer, but it turns out fluffy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-04
Updated: 2017-05-04
Packaged: 2018-10-28 04:48:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10824072
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DestielTheShipOfDreams/pseuds/DestielTheShipOfDreams
Summary: Cas wakes up free of Lucifer, but he can't quite believe it. Still, he accepts what he thinks is a false paradise. Everything is how he's always wanted it to be, so it can't possibly be real...





	Real

**Author's Note:**

> Started as my dream opening for 11x23 but turned into a weird little mini-fic. Try to enjoy despite the terrible structure (two parter omg srsly what was I thinking).

The room is quiet, and has been so for hours.

 

Dean lies in a horrendously awkward position, folded double in the hard chair, a frown on his sleeping face. It’s a testament to his exhaustion that he can slumber at all. His chest and stomach are pressed down against his knees and the bed, both his fists underneath his face. He’s not quite drooling on them, or thankfully on the hand they’re clutching between them.

 

The hand in question is attached to Castiel, who is so still and pale on Dean’s bed that he looks horribly like he might not even be alive. Only the shallow rise and fall of his chest combats this impression. That, and the fact that his eyelids are fluttering weakly, his lips moving soundlessly as he struggles into consciousness. Finally, weary blue eyes crack open and Castiel lets out a soft sigh as he peers at the ceiling. He does nothing but stare confusedly at it for half a minute, his battered mind slowly piecing itself together enough for him to realise that he recognises the grain of the paint. He’s in a room that he knows, though not as well as he’s wanted to.

 

Suddenly becoming aware of his senses, the angel frowns and moves his head with a deal of effort, his eyes following down from his own shoulder to the end of his arm. There, they widen with shock. Dean Winchester is sleeping on his hand, gripping it firmly in his own curled fingers. The human looks like he’s been ill, his skin wan and sickly, dark shadows around his closed eyes. His lips are parted and his breath saws in and out with a faint snuffling sound thanks to the awkward position he’s in. Castiel remembers being human enough to know that Dean is going to have several sore areas when he wakes, because muscles and joints tend to be very particular about how they’re arranged during sleep. Blinking down at the hunter, Castiel feels a rush of love and relief at being near him again, without Lucifer between them. The emotions annoy him, but he’s resigned to them after these long years. They’re a part of him now, no matter how inappropriate or misplaced they may be.

 

Castiel lifts his other arm and hovers his hand over Dean’s head, meaning to wake him. His fingers linger for a moment and he sighs again as he gently strokes the short hair. He stays like that for probably too long, but eventually he shakes his head and lays his palm firmly on Dean’s shoulder, pressing slightly.

 

“Dean,” he croaks, his voice a mess. Dean mumbles vaguely and his eyelids flutter once. Cas tries again, speaking the man’s name louder. This time he sees a hint of green between the brown lashes and Dean’s grip contracts around Cas’s hand. Cas watches warily, some distant part of him curious about why Dean slept here. It must have been an accident. Dean inhales sharply as he wakens, eyes widening and gazing up at the angel.

 

“Cas,” he breathes huskily. Cas swallows, taken aback by the unexpected emotion on Dean’s face. Suddenly, whatever emotion it was transforms into alarm and Dean jerks up from the tangle of fingers serving as his pillow, wrenching one of his hands away to swipe it hastily across his mouth. He inspects the back of Cas’s hand, his eyes wide and bleary with sleepiness. Cas struggles to sit up, puzzled and concerned. After a long second, Dean blinks and appears to relax slightly, dropping Cas’s hand back to the mattress but keeping it clutched in one of his own. He raises his eyes back to Cas’s questioning gaze, looking a little sheepish.

 

“Sorry,” he mumbles. “I thought I’d drooled on you.”

 

Cas squints at him and Dean flushes, seeming all at once to wake up fully. He shuts his eyes and swears under his breath before opening them again and taking a deep breath, glancing at Cas before looking away. He’s bright red.

 

“You know what? Never mind,” he says a little too loudly. “How do you feel?”

 

Cas thinks about it. “Confused.”

 

Dean frowns concernedly at him, rolling his shoulders and wincing. Cas stares back, noticing how Dean seems utterly focused on him even as he drags the chair closer and rubs feeling back into one of his legs. And he still hasn’t let go of Cas’s hand. Yes, definitely confused.

 

“You remember what happened?” Dean asks quietly. “Or were you... I mean, I’m just trying to figure out how messed up you might be this time.”

 

The blunt phrasing is more like Dean and it relaxes Cas a little. He drags himself further up the pillows and shakes his head, squeezing Dean’s hand without meaning to. At some point the hunter has laced their fingers together, palm to palm. “Well, none of it was very pleasant, but I’m still sane. Which hasn’t always been the case. So you don’t need to worry, I won’t be any trouble. I might need a few days to recover, though. Would it be... I don’t want to ask, but do you think I might stay here for a little while?”

 

Dean sucks in a breath and Cas recoils in dismay, wondering what the hell he could have done to hurt Dean this time. The human looks practically heartbroken. “Oh, Cas.”

 

“What? Dean, what’s wrong? Are you OK?”

 

Dean shifts from the chair onto the bed, sitting on the side of it, far closer to Cas than he was before. The movement brings Cas’s hand up with him and Dean cradles it to his chest, gazing down at the angel with soulful, repentant green eyes. Cas’s head swims.

 

“I’m so sorry that I even have to tell you this, Cas. You should know. You can stay for as long as you want. You could even just... stay. Like, forever?”

 

It takes Cas a second to decipher the questioning tone and hesitant facial expression, but when he does he’s downright astonished. Dean sounds hopeful. Dean Winchester is hoping that he, Castiel, will stay with him. Almost against his will, Cas feels his perspective and beliefs about Dean shifting, brightening. He feels his own hope expanding, a warm pressure inside his chest. Maybe Dean really did want him back, when he asked him to expel Lucifer. Maybe Cas was missed while he was gone. It’s a novel concept.

 

“Forever?” he repeats, ignoring for now that ‘forever’ means very different things for him and Dean. The human nods in silence, watching Cas closely. “You wouldn’t mind me being here all the time?”

 

Dean makes a choked sound somewhere between a laugh and a groan. “Are you serious? Would I mind? Cas, it’s all I want. Do you know what I’ve been through while you played the martyr with Lucifer? It was hell, and I have actually been to Hell, as you well know. Nope, never again. You need to stay here, and you need to stay safe. So, yeah. Forever would be preferable.”

 

Cas wonders suddenly if this is real. Maybe everything that happened with Amara and Chuck was false. Maybe Lucifer has decided to begin his torture, after being so absent since taking Cas as a vessel. It makes sense, because everything Dean is saying is basically what Cas has felt whenever he’s been without Dean, whenever Dean has been in danger. Lucifer must be using Cas’s own feelings against him. This must all be a mirage, building Cas up so that Lucifer, ever the sadist, can watch his brother fall all over again when it ends.

 

Cas decides that he doesn’t much care.

 

“OK, Dean,” he says softly. “I’ll stay.”

 

\----------------------------------------------------------

 

Castiel is happy, and has been so for weeks.

 

He treated everything as though it was real from the moment Dean first kissed his lips, still perched on the edge of his own bed, still clutching Cas’s hand like a lifeline. He was determined to interpret whatever the devil was doing as a gift and spite Lucifer by taking it eagerly, even knowing it to be an illusion. It quickly proved to be a meticulously realistic illusion, although with some odd details. Cas had to wonder why Lucifer would make himself dead in his own imaginary created world, but he quickly decided not to dwell on it.

 

Taking down Amara was messy and dangerous and Cas hated seeing Dean struggle against his ‘bond’ with her to do it, even if it wasn’t the real Dean. Cas held him that night, skin to skin, and assured him that there was no shame in his grief or his guilt. He kissed away Dean’s furious tears and stroked his tense back until the hunter succumbed to sleep. Even in a djinn-like fantasy, Dean Winchester was stubborn.

 

The situation with Chuck was downright weird. Cas couldn’t understand why Lucifer would create such a sympathetic and likable version of their absent Father, especially when Lucifer had never had much to do with the dead prophet whose face he’d used. But as with Dean, Cas decided to just take advantage of whatever Lucifer was playing at. Cas had unresolved issues with God too, and this was the closest he’d get to a chance at addressing them. So he did. He sat down with Chuck, expressed all his hurt and anger, and felt a genuine sense of relief afterwards. It was easy to believe that it had really happened.

 

Finally, after the little band of unlikely comrades had defeated the Darkness and taken some well-earned rest, Cas expected Lucifer to swoop in and destroy his contentment. But he didn’t. A week passed, then a month. Cas began to think of Dean’s room as home, Dean’s bed as his safe place to always return to, Dean’s arms as his rightful spot in the universe. Sam taught Cas how to use the smoothie maker and badgered him into teaching him more Enochian. Chuck popped in regularly, keeping a repaired ‘World’s Greatest Dad’ mug in their kitchen cupboard. They didn’t hunt, although they all agreed that they’d start taking on cases again, some day soon. They went on a camping trip and Cas laughed freely and easily at Sam’s hunting anecdotes, toasting marshmallows on a campfire with his head on Dean’s knee. They watched movies, Dean and Sam bickering and making lame jokes while Cas carefully stored pop culture references away for later. Dean cooked and Cas insisted upon eating all of the meals he made, trying to re-train his sense of taste to a more human setting. They became a family, relaxed and united, and to Cas it was idyllic.

 

It’s almost six weeks after waking that Cas finally realises. He’s leaning against the kitchen counter, holding the sieve as Dean carefully measures flour for pastry. He’s watching Dean unashamedly, noting the slight purse to his lips as he concentrates. He can see the flush rising on Dean’s neck and he smiles in anticipation as the human sighs and levels him with a flat glare, putting the flour down on the counter.

 

“Cas,” he grumbles, “we talked about this. The staring.”

 

Cas blinks innocently, mischief in his gaze. “We did?”

 

Dean’s mouth quirks but he keeps a straight face. “Yep. I think I was pretty clear what the consequences would be if you couldn’t keep your eyes to yourself.”

 

Cas leans back on his hands, his ever-expanding grasp of body language making him quite adept at signaling to Dean that he is more than willing to fool around, at pretty much any point. He tilts his head at Dean in mock confusion. “What consequences?”

 

A wolfish grin finally breaks free on Dean’s face and he laughs slightly as he moves in on the angel, pressing him against the counter and nipping softly at his lips. Cas smiles into the kiss, feeling ludicrously happy and even more so knowing that he makes Dean happy. Dean pulls back and eyes Cas with satisfaction.

 

“You always were a creep with the staring,” he informs Cas in a murmur, hands idly playing with the hem of Cas’s - Dean’s, actually - henley shirt, eyes lingering on the angel’s lips. Cas smirks at Dean, head still cocked characteristically sideways.

 

“Really? I think it’s definitely worse nowadays.”

 

Dean grins at him and steals another kiss before replying. “Maybe. But I remember when we first met. You didn’t blink for minutes at a time. Like a damn robot.”

 

Cas frowns, thinking back. “I don’t think I stared at you much back then. The staring was a gradual development of my behaviour reflecting my personal interest in you.”

 

Dean sighs as though bored and leans forward, nosing at Cas’s neck. His voice echoes softly near Cas’s ear. “Whatever, dude. I promise you, you stared at me just as much when we first met as you did after you rebelled. Maybe you just noticed more after you started to actually like me.”

 

Cas thinks harder, remembering back to that grey time before he accepted that he’d fallen in love with Dean Winchester. He thinks that possibly Dean is right, now that he replays the memories. They do mostly consist of detailed studies of Dean’s face. He smiles and is about to give a shrug when he freezes, the implications of this moment crashing in on him.

 

Dean remembered something about Cas that Cas hadn’t realised before. But Dean isn’t real. How could Dean possibly remember the past better than Cas, when Lucifer is drawing on Cas’s memories to create this fantasy? Because it’s not - it can’t possibly be -

 

“Real,” Cas whispers dazedly into Dean’s hair. He hears the counter straining and then cracking under his grip, feels Dean draw back from him in surprise.

 

“Whoa, whoa, Cas! What the hell are you doing? Cas?!”

 

Worried green eyes are peering at him and Cas loosens his grip slightly, although his heart is pounding and his eyes are swimming with tears.

 

“It’s real,” he whimpers at Dean, and the human screws up his face in confusion.

 

“What’s real?”

 

“You. You’re real.”

 

Cas reaches up and cups Dean’s face with both hands, tears now running down his own cheeks. Dean is starting to look frightened. Cas doesn’t cry, ever.

 

“Cas, calm down. What’s wrong? Why would I not be real?”

 

“I didn’t think you were,” Cas explains in a choked voice, still reeling from his epiphany. “I thought Lucifer made all this up to get to me, maybe to distract himself from Amara’s torture. It just seemed too...”

 

His voice trails off but Dean looks stricken, as though he understands.

 

“Too good,” he finishes lowly. “You thought it seemed too good to be real.”

 

Cas nods and a small sob escapes him, thumbs stroking Dean’s cheekbones. He’s real. Dean is real. The past few weeks, the best of Cas’s existence, have been real. His Father is real. Their family is real.

 

“Oh, sweetheart,” Dean says brokenly, drawing Cas into his arms. Cas screws up his face against Dean’s shoulder, wrapping his arms around the hunter’s solid middle. Dean kisses his hair, rubs his back, a mirror of all the times Cas has done the same to soothe Dean through a nightmare. “I thought we were finally alright now.”

 

Cas snuffles and pulls back, giving Dean a weak, watery smile. “We are. We’re better than alright. I just didn’t know it.”

 

Dean shakes his head ruefully, hands still stroking circles into Cas’s back. “But you know now, right? This is it. This is real, this is how things are.”

 

Cas smiles, pure unbridled joy in his glimmering eyes. “I can deal with that.”


End file.
